


Over My Head

by jkateel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s11e06 Our Little World, Gen, implied pre-Dean/Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 18:24:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5216057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jkateel/pseuds/jkateel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A headache on Dean's part leads to a confession on Castiel's. A coda to "Our Little World."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over My Head

**Author's Note:**

> So Dean and Sam get knocked unconscious. A lot. And holy shit, would that be bad if that happened in real life. Be nice to your brains, kiddos. Anyway, that's what prompted this story. Hope you enjoy!

Dean got headaches. A lot. It came with the territory, so he always had a Winchester-approved treatment on hand: a few Excedrin and a glass of brandy or two. Most of the time that was enough, but tonight’s headache was extra special, clearly requiring an extra dose of special treatment. That was how Dean found himself in the kitchen, about to pop two more pills and another glass of brandy, when Cas walked in.

Still frustrated and irritated-with-him Cas, trenchcoat and tie gone now, who took one look at him and then huffed in annoyance. He strode over before Dean could say or do anything, pushing two fingers to his forehead. With a hum of power that had Dean flinching (why did angel mojo always hurt before it healed anyway?), his headache disappeared, and the fog that had come with it went too. As Dean blinked in surprise, Castiel dropped his fingers away and huffed again.

“You need to stop getting knocked unconscious,” he growled, voice deep in all the ways Dean didn’t like to think about. “You are damaging your brain.”

Dean frowned. He usually wholeheartedly trusted Cas’s assessment of stuff — even if he would never admit it — but that seemed a little farfetched. “It was a headache, Cas, chill.”

He should have known better: Telling a pissed-off angel to relax was never a good idea. But maybe Dean was still just as angry as Cas and now, feeling better, he was looking for a fight. Their earlier one hadn’t been enough to scratch the itch, and Dean was still pissed that Cas had let Metatron go. (Or that he himself had been useless against Amara, and he did not know _why_.)

Maybe Cas felt the same, the way he slammed the jar of popcorn kernels he had grabbed so hard on the counter that it sounded like a gunshot. “A headache caused by a concussion, _Dean_ ,” he snarled, blue eyes narrowing dangerously. “Which are the result of you being knocked unconscious. Which often damages your brain, and causes you _pain_.”

“Headaches, Cas, _headaches,”_ Dean repeated, and then waved a hand toward the pills and brandy. “A problem I can fix on my own, thank you very much.”

“A temporary solution,” Cas shot back, fists clenching at his side. “One that will not work in the long term, when the effects of all that damage _destroys your brain_.”

Dean was too angry to pay attention to what he was saying, because he knew Cas was right and didn’t want to admit it. “I’m probably not going to live long enough to go the way of Muhammad Ali, Cas,” he snapped, and the angel’s head briefly tilted in his ‘I-do-not-understand-the-context-of-that-reference’ look. “And even if I did, it doesn’t matter: Getting knocked out on occasion comes with the job. Always has, always will.”

“Then perhaps you should start wearing a helmet,” Cas deadpanned, and it was such an off-the-wall response that Dean almost, _almost_ laughed. The most he let himself do was snort, but some of his anger started to fade away. The angel was right after all, and it touched on something Dean was also pointedly not thinking about: How he was kind of tired of being beaten and tossed around and getting knocked out. The aches and pains and headaches were getting kind of old...

It didn’t mean he’d let Cas have the last word, though. He couldn’t. “Or you could not just make a big deal of it,” he muttered, snatching his drink up and draining it. “And just heal me.”

He and Cas knew each other well enough that it was rare that Dean misread him. Cas’s joke seemed to ask that they stop bickering, and Dean had acquiesced, and normally they’d just move on. But not this time it seemed: Cas glared at him, shoulders tensing up in a way that meant he was _really_ angry now.

“And what if I’m not around, Dean?” he snapped viciously, and Dean stiffened. “What if I _can’t_ heal you?”

Dean didn’t like how his heart started pounding, or how he was suddenly so cold. He folded his arms over his chest, bracing himself for a blow he should have known was coming. His voice was gruff as he muttered, “You goin’ to leave, Cas?”

It shouldn’t have been a surprise, but after almost two months in the bunker, Dean had started to… Get _used_ to having Cas around. He had stupidly started thinking ahead too, about what Cas would need in the long term. (His own room, his own TV so he didn’t keep stealing Sam’s, possibly his own laptop, a new car maybe.) Dean wouldn’t say he started hoping this was it, Cas would _finally_ stay — he wasn’t an idiot to believe that anymore — but he had thought that they’d have a little longer...

To Dean’s surprise, Cas sighed suddenly, tension draining out of his muscles as he looked away. He turned toward the counter then, hands coming up to grip it so tightly his knuckles flared white. “No,” he said with a shake of his head. “No, I just—”

He trailed off, Dean growing concerned. Something was bothering Cas — for a while now, ever since they had cured him of the attack dog curse — but he wasn’t sure what. He hadn’t asked either; hadn’t felt like he could after… Well, after everything he had done when he had gone off the deep end. It was easier to let Cas have his Netflix, trash TV and his space than talking.

But something told Dean that this time was different. That maybe Cas _needed_ to talk; that whatever was bothering him was too much now. Dean swallowed nervously, before he unfolded his arms, bracing his hip on the counter as he leaned toward the angel. 

“Cas?” he prompted, the silent _Talk to me_ hanging in the air.

The angel sighed again, eyes never leaving the counter. Dean waited patiently, until Cas seemed to find the words he wanted. “Metatron,” he began, ever so slowly. “He said I was… Lost.”

He wasn’t sure what to expect, but it certainly hadn’t been that. Dean lifted his eyebrow, confused. “Lost? What do you mean _lost_?”

Cas’s grip tightened on the counter again, lifting tired blue eyes to meet his. “Lost. Unsure of my place, what I want,” he explained, voice rough. “All I feel is confusion and uncertainty. And I am unable to answer the question so many keep asking me.”

That made Dean frown. Cas’s confusion and uncertainty was worrisome, but he had to ask about the cause. “Question?” he repeated.

“Who am I?” Cas replied, eyes sliding away again. “An angel or—”

He didn’t say it. He didn’t have to say it, either. _A human_ , Dean answered for him, watching as Cas closed his eyes with another exhausted sigh, and hung his head.

They had never really talked about Cas’s time as a human. (They had never talked about Dean’s time as a demon either, to be fair.) They had never had the chance to, with everything that had happened, but Dean thought Cas had liked it. Food. Good water pressure. The hedonism… minus the torture, of course. Getting drunk and hanging out with his family and friends. Everything that made being a human kind of awesome. He seemed to miss parts of it too — Sam had told him how Cas longed for PB & J, and Dean sometimes caught the angel staring at his pizzas and sandwiches with a hungry look in his eyes.

But maybe he had missed more that. It’d clearly been bothering him too, if it had left him feeling lost.

One thing leaped out at him, something he couldn’t help but ask about too. Dean frowned again. “People… People keep asking you that?”

“In a matter of speaking,” Cas replied, glancing back at him. He still looked so tired. “They weren’t asking per say… More _implying_.”

 _Or accusing_ , Dean thought. It was no secret what the angels thought about him and Cas, and Dean supposed he couldn’t blame them. Not after what had Cas had done for him since the apocalypse and beyond, even though it had cost him so much. If the angels thought Cas wanted to be human...

At the same time, however, Cas had done _loads_ for Heaven — saving the angels from Raphael, Naomi and Metatron. Sure, it hadn’t exactly always gone well (but there was no need to think about the time Cas played God), but he had done _so much_. The angels had been able to return home because of him, and for the first time, actually had a chance at choosing their own fates.

For all the good that had done him, since the angels hated Cas now apparently…

But none of that really mattered, because Cas was trying to answer that question: Who was he? Angel or human? 

Growing uncomfortable, Dean shifted in place, looking anywhere but Cas. He thought back to their argument, Cas’s, “ _What if I_ can’t _heal you?”_ The only way he couldn’t was if he wasn’t an angel, so… 

“Do you want to be a human again, Cas?”

It was always weird to watch Cas’s version of a flinch, the way his lips pressed together, and he looked at Dean in surprise before turned away. And it answered Dean’s question, leaving him gaping.

 _Cas wanted to be human again_.

Holy shit. That was big. Game-changing. Probably the biggest decision there was and the impact of it was _huge_. Shit, no wonder Cas felt lost — he was talking about taking out the batteries for good. Going full-on human, with everything that came back with that. 

“Damn,” was all he could say in the end, and Cas let out a huff of amusement. 

“There is a word for it,” he muttered tiredly.

Dean could barely wrap his mind around it really. Would he really give up those wings he had missed so much once? Would he give up Heaven? (If the angels let him come back?) Would he give up his powers? The grace he had searched so hard for?

And if Cas _did_ become human, what would that mean for him? Clearly Cas was struggling with the idea if his rant about concussions was anything to go by. And with the Darkness and Amara wandering the Earth, Cas probably felt like this was the worst time to be thinking about his wants and needs. They didn’t exactly have time to train a brand-new human in how to arm and protect himself when the world was probably ending again.

Not that Dean wouldn’t do it in a heartbeat. He’d do anything for Cas.

Dean shifted uncomfortably. That was something he didn’t want to think about — it brought to mind all the things _he_ wanted and needed, and had for years. Things he knew he had no right to ask for, not after everything he had done to Cas in the past few months — not after nearly _killing_ him. Things he didn’t even know he could have anymore, what with the Darkness, and whatever was going on with Amara. Dean honestly didn’t know what the future held for any of them, but “settling down with someone who understands the life” seemed farfetched as everything else. 

But this wasn’t about him; couldn’t be about him. This was about _Cas_.

He looked back at the angel, which was when he realized then that Cas was staring at him. The expression on his face was hesitant, and difficult for Dean to read. It looked liked maybe he was afraid Dean would scoff at the idea, and tell them that they had bigger problems. Or maybe he was waiting for Dean to tell him to stay an angel, because they still needed his powers. Or maybe he was just hoping Dean would tell him what he himself wanted: An angel or a human, and Cas wouldn’t have to feel lost anymore. 

That thought made Dean uncomfortable again, and he had to look away once more. He didn’t know why Cas would want his opinion after _everything_ —especially given the choices Dean had made in the past year alone. And thinking it over though, he honestly didn’t know what he himself would prefer. Angel or human, Cas was Cas, no matter what form he took. Powers or no powers — Dean needed him either way; he’d want him either way too.

But it wasn’t his choice. That was something he had learned and learned well: He couldn’t make choices for people. It had to be Cas’s decision in the end, as hard as it would be for him to decide. 

He could give Cas something else though, small as it was: His support.

“I think… I think you should choose what makes you happy,” he said, as he looked back at the angel. 

Cas’s hesitant look faded for a thoughtful one. “What makes me happy?” he repeated, almost to himself.

Dean nodded anyway. “And whatever you choose — angel, human, or angel-slash-human thing you got going on here — I’ll have your back. And you’ll always have a home here, Cas.”

Cas didn’t seem to hear him, his thoughts clearly elsewhere as he looked away. It was one of those silences that followed, ones Dean always had to fill with terrible humor so they didn’t get awkward. “In the meantime, me and Sam will try to avoid getting knocked out as much, so you don’t have to worry about any brain damage, potential or otherwise.”

The angel looked back at him, and his lips slid toward a smile. And then he reached over, touching Dean’s shoulder lightly, his blue eyes warm. “Thank you, Dean,” he whispered.

He could have meant the concussion stuff… Or for the advice on the life-changing decision. Probably both, knowing Cas. Dean bobbed his head, voice gruff. “Anytime, buddy,” he promised.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr.](http://jkateel.tumblr.com/)


End file.
